


For Now

by th8a (fandom_trawler)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:06:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28727817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_trawler/pseuds/th8a
Summary: Reader is transported to Gravity Falls mysteriously. Why? How will you get home? Will there be romance???(I don't know what I'm doing, this is my first work. Trying to write the reader as gender-neutral.)
Relationships: Ford Pines/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	For Now

**Author's Note:**

> For the anomalies <3

“Hey, I’m back! I got it right here!”

A young man, perhaps 20, bursts through the door of a cabin, bag open and flung over one shoulder. 

“In my lounge, Dipper!” another man calls from a room at the far end of the house.

He’s breathing a little hard as he paces excitedly over to his great uncle. “I got it here!” he repeats himself, handing the ziplock bag over.

The older man brings the bag close to his face, concentrating on the weathered text on the scrap of parchment within. 

“You were right to bring this to me, my boy,” he says seriously, carefully removing the paper from the bag. “This kind of thing shouldn’t be left out in the open.”

Ford lightly rubs the parchment between his fingers. “You haven’t read this aloud, right?”

He shrugs. “Can’t read it, and the last time I read something mysterious aloud, I raised the dead.” Dipper shudders. “Never again.”

He nods firmly. “Quite right. A hard lesson to learn. I haven’t since… the last time, either.” Ford grimaces and they both quickly find something else to look at. Memories of that summer come in terrible flashes.

Dipper’s curiosity wins out. “What language do you think it’s in?”

“I’m positive that the language originated on Earth, although the words I recognize are in strange places… the grammar seems like it has been translated. Poorly, at that.”

He pauses. “I’m hesitant to continue translating this, at all. Did you find anything else with the remains?”

“Yeah, but I just took pictures,” he says, reaching for his laptop. “The guy had some letters, in a bag, but they were in some kind of code? Also taking his stuff felt like graverobbing.”

“Huh? Who died?” Stan pops his head in the door, suddenly present and extremely interested. “Didn’t think you had it in you, kid.”

“No, Grunkle Stan, I didn’t rob a corpse. Not a huge fan of being cursed.”

“Meh. I got a tour coming through.” He walks out, frowning.

“Here is the first letter. And there’s another.” Dipper spins the laptop toward his uncle, who adjusts his glasses and squints at the screen in the low light. “They’re translating now. Do you have any idea what this is?”

“It’s a summons. A call to universal powers for the fulfillment of a desire.” He points to one of the symbols. “Their… deepest desire? But for what? Money? Power? I don’t recognize this symbol, here…” He turns to his bookshelves, choosing four books and striding over to his work table. He pulls the cord on the lamp above and it swings gently, light swaying left to right. Dipper turns to follow him, the man already leafing through two books at once.

After a few moments: “There. When used with this previous symbol, it means the heart’s desire.”

“So, like a crush?”

“Something akin to ‘fixation,’ it would appear.” He points to the symbol on the parchment. “Used in this context it could truly mean anything - a cure for illnesses, perhaps, or a catastrophic event… or yes, a crush, I suppose.” He raises an eyebrow, glancing over at the younger man, eyeing the dreamy look on his face.

“It’s unfortunate we can never use it, really.”

Dipper gapes at his uncle. “But we know what it does now!” 

Ford shakes his head and smiles calmly. “Trust me, I’ve seen enough of this sort of thing going horribly awry to know better than to leave anything this vaguely worded in the hands of an unseen force.”

Dipper is still sour. “I guess you’re right.”

Ford strokes his chin, and stares down at the paper in his hand, becoming impatient. “How are those letters coming?”

“The first one’s just about done.” Dipper spins the laptop so Ford can see.

Both men skim quietly, and when Ford finishes, he turns away to pace and gaze aimlessly, allowing Dipper time to finish. He pinches the scrap between his fingers, bringing it closer to his face unconsciously, idly reading the titles directly in his eyeline.

“I’ll let you know when the second one is done.”

Ford nods passively, running his finger over the symbols as he reads it again.

The paper shifts in the light, and he swears that the text glows golden for a moment. He brings the paper close to his face, studying it, ink black and unchanging. He eyes his nephew, nervously. “That’s certainly taking a while.”

“Yeah, it’s stuck toward the bottom, text is jumbled,” Dipper relays quickly, spinning in his chair to face Ford. “Gosh, maybe I should have brought them back after all-”

The paper interrupts that line of thought, evaporating instantly in a quick whip of light and puff of smoke, leaving nothing but a cool sensation on the tips of Ford’s fingers. He stares at his empty hand, foreboding feeling settling in his core. A beat passes between the men before they are both on the floor, shifting errant papers, searching urgently and in vain.

Dipper exhales, settling back on his heels, and lifts his hat up to run a hand through his hair. He looks at his uncle, both for guidance and in annoyance.

Ford puts his palms in the air. “Dipper, I didn’t-”

“I know,” he cuts him off with a sigh. “But then… what happened?”

“It… disappeared,” he begins, and finishes quickly: “Also it might have glowed gold for a moment.”

“Great Uncle Ford!”

“Focus on facts. Observations only.” He starts, a little defensively. “There will always be time for intuition and assumptions, but-”

“Truth fades immediately.”

\---

Kneeling in the grass, you do a check of your body - head, arms and hands, legs and feet, nothing missing in the middle. You’re breathing oxygen, you assume, as you seem alive. You look up to see pines and birches reaching tall into a blue sky, sun shining through cloud cover and branches dapples the ground in shadows. 

This looks like Earth. It very well could be, you reason. But where?

You rise to your feet slowly, brushing off your knees, and hunching out of a desire to not bring attention to yourself. You swing your head around, the scene beginning to take shape. Smells start to register, and a strong whiff of wet dirt and woods further supports the idea that you are somewhere on Earth. Through the trees on your right stands a building, and you are struck with both relief and a twinge of fear. There might be other people here. Did they bring you here? Are they looking for you?

You choose a large tree and duck behind it, rough bark under your fingers keeping you grounded. Holding your breath, you listen hard for the sounds of people. You peer around the tree to get a better look at the building and spot a number of vehicles and a large bus parked to one side of the building, which you had now classified as a large cabin, internally. None of the makes and models are familiar, and you let out your breath against the tree.

No one has come for you yet. No one’s noticed you. You slip around the tree and behind another, and another, making a jagged line toward the cabin. As you near, you hear voices coming from the other side. Your eyes follow the wood beams up to where they meet at the peak of the roof, something registering in your subconscious. Idly you feel your pockets. No wallet, no phone. 

A voice pierces through the still air, welcoming an unseen crowd to

The Mystery Shack

And you know you’re dreaming. Who knew dreams could be this vivid?

You move quietly, bolder, following the voice and spot the back of the crowd, rapt with the tales the man at the front of the tour was regaling them with. Suddenly they’re moving, and you catch up with them, filing into the dark showroom.

The presentation is campy and outrageous. It’s delightful. Stan is incredibly life-like and quite the showman, all wild hand gestures and well-executed vocal timing. He’s even wearing the eyepatch, you muse, when you swear you catch him staring at you.

You turn to face him, and follow his gaze to your left, wide grin gleaming at the last few patrons lined up with their merchandise at the counter. Wendy’s there, phoning it in. You eye him again and he’s already striding over to stand next to her.

“Wendy, why don’t you take off early? I’ll finish ringing up these fine folks for ya.”

She looks at him, eyes narrowed a little, and then shrugs. “Whatever. Later!” And she’s gone.

He makes quick work of them and bids them a good evening, waiting for the door to swing shut behind them before speaking.

“You know, I usually don’t give tours for free,” he starts glibly, staring down as he counts out a stack of bills, “and I’m not about to start now. Sets a bad precedent, y’know?”

“Uh, yeah… sorry.” You can’t believe what’s happening. “I… woke up without my wallet.”

His face falls as he looks up at you. “What do you mean, woke up? You okay, kid?”

You look around, dazed, taking it all in. He watches as you take a few steps away from him toward the vending machine, staring, knowing what’s beyond it. The floorboards creak as you turn back to him. He looks a little uneasy, standing still, as though waiting for you to do something.  
.  
If this is a dream, why isn’t he cartoony?

“Can I use your phone?”

“Y-yeah, of course. Let me go get it.”

He walks through the door scrawled “Employees Only,” sneaking a glance at you as he goes, and the room goes silent. You look vaguely around at the merchandise, eyes landing on the iconic blue and white hats stacked on a shelf by the exit. The quiet only lasts a moment more before you hear voices whispering loudly behind the door.

“You didn’t even ask their name?”

“Didn’t seem important! Look, just… back me up, okay?

“Stanley, I’m busy. Dipper and I are waiting for a very important document to translate.”

“C’mon, Sixer. They seem really out of it.”

Sixer.

Both men step through the door, Stan with cordless phone in hand, Ford following him over the threshold.

Your eyes meet and you freeze. You try not to stare, but you can’t help it. He’s frowning at you, working through something in his head, and you feel your skin turn absolutely crimson under his gaze. He’s not cartoony, either. Just about as tall as you envisioned, though, and Stan approaches you, still cautious, handing you the phone.

“You, uh, got a number in mind?”

You look back to him, mouth hanging open a little. “Yeah.”

This has to be a dream… right?

You will your thumbs to dial your own number, and lift the phone to your ear. Not in service.

Your hand drops slowly, the voice fading, and you look between them, at a loss for words. Ford is still frowning, but takes a few cautious steps closer.

“Are you staying in town? Can we call you a cab?”

“No, I’m not. I don’t know how I got here.” You clutch your arms close, words coming a little easier now. “I know where I am, but I don’t remember....”

“Do you remember your name?” He asks, low and breathless.

You nod, and give it to him.

He stares at you, wide-eyed, and turns on his heel and retreats, letting the door swing behind him. Stan watches him practically scurry away, bewildered. 

“Uh, okay.” He returns to you. “You got another number you can try?”

“Yeah.” You start to dial when a thought occurs. “What year is it?”

He flips up his eyepatch and gives you a hard once-over. 

You nod when he gives you the year. It’s the right one. Stan sighs a little in relief, too.

None of your friends’ numbers seem to work, either.

Ford and Dipper emerge from the door, the young man responding immediately to the tension in the room. “Heh - hello.”

You laugh openly, ferociously willing this all to be a dream. Maybe you’ll wake up if you break the fourth wall? 

“Wow, the whole gang. Is Mabel going to show up, too?”

The men visibly stiffen in their spots. 

“Who’s Mabel?” Dipper asks tentatively.

“Your sister.” Your free hand moves up to rub at your eyes. “I think I might be dreaming…”

“Grunkle Ford?”

“I suppose it’s possible your dream is intersecting with our reality,” Ford approaches you cautiously, “but usually the dreamer isn’t visible like this.” He stops a few feet from you, unable to look away. His fingers twitch toward you, uncertain. “I… we need to determine if you are physically present.”

His hands reach out in the space between you, hovering on either side of your shoulders. “I need to run some tests… to know for sure.”

You nod, unbelieving, shrinking into yourself as you suddenly feel all the eyes in the room boring holes into you. He takes a breath and holds it.

His fingertips brush your shoulders, causing them to twitch away. You vaguely feel it through your clothes, and you watch his face as he resolves to settle his hands on you. You feel his fingers gently pressing into your skin, warmth transferring through your clothing, and the world becomes sharper and harsher, somehow. The sun is too bright, suddenly, and you feel the weight of your feet on the floor. You can taste the stale air in the old cabin, smell the years of water damage done to any edifice buried deep in the woods. This is no dream.

You look up at the man, breath stuck in your throat, and he’s still gazing at your face. “You’re solid, and don’t appear to be phasing, so… not astral projection… you’re really here.” He swallows, and takes a shaking breath to call over his shoulder. “Dipper, are you getting this?”

“Uh, yeah.” He scrambles to pull a notepad and pen out from his vest and narrates as he scribbles. “Not… astral… projection…”

“Perhaps I am the one who is dreaming,” he muses, his eyes darting over your features, hands still clamped onto your arms.

“If this is what smart guy dreams are like, I’m glad you got the brains, Poindexter.”

“Is everyone corporeal? Stan, Dipper, check yourselves.”

Ford remembers that his hands are still on you and drops them quickly. “First test complete.” he mutters. The skin there is cold. He pats himself down, moving down his arms and torso, seeming satisfied with the results.

“I’m real.” Dipper announces.

“I have no idea what you just said.”

Ford runs a hand through his hair and lets out a quick sigh. “Very well. Now, I need to scan you,” he says plainly, pulling a device from his pocket, and motioning vaguely in front of himself. When you don’t move, he looks over at you expectantly.

“Uh, what does that do?”

“Oh!” he sees the trepidation on your face and chuckles. “Nothing to be afraid of! I’ve tweaked it so now it emits less radiation than your average microwave.”

He smiles, but won’t meet your eye. “Okay,” you resign, dropping your arms to the side, self-conscious.

“You can stand comfortably, this will only take a moment.” He’s lining up the pointy end of this device at you and you send Stan a nervous glance. He’s been standing stock-still this entire time, you realize, his arms crossed tightly across his chest, calm, but absolutely daring you to see what happens if you make any sudden movements.

A green flash brings you back to Ford, who is grinning openly at the scanner’s small screen. “Human composition confirmed. What a relief!”

“Perfect. A revelation. Where did they come from?” Stan asks evenly.

Ford’s face screws up in thought. “Dipper, do you think…? The timing alone…!”

He shakes his head firmly. “It can’t be a coincidence.”

“Don’t tell me you had something to do with this? Some wacky experiment gone wrong? Hey, hand me that phone, will ya?” You do.

He pointedly ignores the question. “Stanley, I think we should handle this ourselves.”

“What did you think I was gonna do, call the cops?” He barks a laugh, making his way out of the room. “Of course you’ll handle this yourself.”

“Wha - Stanley!” He pleads.

“Barely been back a week and there’s already weird shit going on. Not this year! Not in my house!”

“My house!” Ford corrects him, but he’s already gone.

He turns to glance over his shoulder at you and sighs. “We’ll figure this out. I promise.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

“What… today, tonight, or…?”

He grimaces. “Unlikely. We should probably… secure you some lodging. Short-term.” He attempts to assure you, seeing the look on your face. “And perhaps some food? Necessities?” He looks at you, whipping a notebook open and grabbing a pen from his pocket, all in one motion. 

“Ford?”

You say his name, still and small, and he freezes in place. “Yes?” he returns, in a whisper.

“I’m gonna get some air.” Your voice is shaky, and you turn to leave through the gift shop door, Dipper hot on your heels.

“Wait, don’t leave!” he calls after you, but Ford stops him before he can catch up.

“They’re not going anywhere. There’s nowhere for them to go, not in this dimension, anyway.” He tips the scanner so his nephew can see the results.

He nods, reading your dimensional origin. “Well, at least we know where they have to go.”

“Yes, but getting them there… that’s a whole other problem.”

\---

You’re standing alone on the porch, hugging yourself tight, willing your racing brain to slow down with long, substantial breaths. The sun is flirting with the tops of the pines, and the forest is somehow loud with animal chatter and deathly quiet and foreboding simultaneously. You feel trapped, suddenly, despite the miles of clear sky above and the road leading out of the woods just in front of you. The lot is empty now. There’s no one else around, just you and these people who you somehow know too well and not at all and how on earth are you going to get home when home might not even exist - 

The door creaks behind you and you startle, skipping the steps and darting to the ground in a graceless leap. You look back to see Ford, one hand on the door and the other still gripping his scanner.

“...Sorry.” he offers quietly, looking at you in a way that you can’t decipher. You take in his features in the daylight, as he lets the door swing shut. His square jaw, which flexes when he clenches his teeth; his wide nose, a little ruddy and hooked into roundness; his intense eyes, bagged and wrinkled, but not unkind. He’s familiar and foreign, a strange and comforting sight all at once. 

The Ford that you know isn’t anything to fear, but this might not be the world you know. 

What choice do you have?

“This is weird,” you finally utter.

He nods once, rubbing the back of his neck. “Undeniably.” He glances down at the scanner in his hand, and perks a little, motioning it toward you. “Would you… like to see your scan?”

You glance down at his hand, and back to him. He’s wearing a small, lopsided smile, trying his very best to look non-threatening, or at the very least, composed. He seems eager to show you, so you move a little closer, one foot perched up on a step, your arms crossed tightly.

He leans over, bending the screen around for you to see. You read it: 

OXYGEN 65%  
CARBON 18%  
HYDROGEN 9.5%  
…

SPECIES: HUMAN  
DNA: NULL  
…

“DNA…?”

“Your DNA hasn’t been added to any databases.” He explains, quietly moving closer. 

You nod, not understanding. “Is that something they do here?”

“Oh, no,” he backtracks, “not that I’m aware of, anyway, heh.” He hits an arrow-shaped button and the screen changes. “Not without a sample.” He’s studying you, much closer now, and you shift your weight back, giving you the space to meet his gaze.

He’s so handsome. The thought erupts fully-formed from the depths of your brain so suddenly that you can’t stop it. It happens so fast that you are afraid that you’ve spoken the words aloud accidentally, but he doesn’t react. You let that thought wander a little, feeling your chest and cheeks heating up under his scrutiny. He’s real.

You take a breath to say something, and your thoughts stall in your throat. His eyebrows lift, urging you to go on, when Dipper emerges through the screen door, looking down at his phone.

“Mabel’s pulling up. I’m gonna go… brief her.” he decides, stepping past you carefully down the steps. A small car pulls up a little too quickly, kicking a little dust up behind it. You watch him jog over and approach the driver, Mabel. You’re staring, watching Dipper explain something to his sister. She looks over and waves, smiling pleasantly, calling “Hi!” He tries to stop her, but he can’t. You smirk and wave back, unsure what he’s telling her.

Ford clears his throat a little. “How did you know about Mabel?”

You choose your words carefully. “Where I’m from, she’s a character in a story.”

He shifts his weight a little as the twins make their way toward you. “A story? Like a book?”

“No. And also yes.”

He nods, hurrying to a point. “Who else is in the story?”

“Hi! I’m Mabel,” she says, extending her hand, friendly and unfazed. “Super spooky that you knew my name! What’s up with that? Are you a psychic?” She turns to Ford. “Are psychics real? Like, for really real?”

He shrugs. “On occasion.”

“Not a psychic.” You say, taking her hand for a quick shake, and giving her your name. 

“Rats,” she laments. “Well, nice to meet you anyway. If you do develop psychic powers, hit a girl up.” She hands you a business card, a professional looking thing, offset by a single tasteful puffy sticker. She breezes past you into the shack, calling for Stan, and Dipper follows after her.

Ford breaks the ensuing quiet, leaning forward intensely. “The story. You knew that Mabel is Dipper’s sister.” He trails off, formulating his questions carefully. “Where did it take place?”

“Here.”

He grimaces again, receiving the answer he didn’t want. “I see.” He frowns deeply at a patch of grass. “There aren’t a lot of stories here worth telling, I’m afraid, so I think I can guess… the one you mean.”

“Well, this is a different… universe? Or something?” You wave your hands in thought.

“Parallel universe in a different dimension,” he rattles off easily, “probably.”

“So the stories could be different, too, right?”

He strokes his chin, intrigued. “I hadn’t considered that.” His wheels are turning. “Of course, that’s perfectly feasible, I suppose there are infinite ways that could have transpired…” He seems to relax a little.

“Do you know how I got here?”

He sighs and stares off into the woods. “No. I have a… theory, but nothing conclusive.”

You nod, half-expecting him to launch into this theory.

“We’re going to get you home. Quickly as we can.” He’s assuring the both of you with a heavy exhale, something else on his mind. He slips his scanner back into some unseen pocket in his coat and gestures for you to stay put, leaving you outside.

You listen to his steps as he strides away, heel heavy against the aging wood, fading as he disappears from sight. The wind in the trees draws your gaze upward, and you watch a handful of birds land atop one of them. You blink, and those same birds are back in the air, crying out and circling, agitated. The tree they tried to land in is swaying. You squint deep into the woods, fascinated and frightened by the prospect of seeing something powerful enough to move a tree. 

You’re still peering into the darkness when he returns, gripping something within his coat. He turns to follow your gaze, hand reflexively moving to brush the handle of the gun at his hip lightly.

He speaks softly, taking a careful, quiet step toward the forest. “See something?”

You nod, eyes scanning but seeing nothing. “Some birds tried to land in a tree and the tree wasn’t having it.”

“Ah! Heh heh.” He chuckles, relieved. “Yes, the forest does seem to have a mind of its own, at times.” He doesn’t explain further.

You turn to him, and he’s smiling, palming a small hardcover notebook in one hand. “I have something for you, if you like.” He extends it out toward you, and you uncross your arms to take it carefully. You shoot a final glance out at the woods before studying the book he’s given you.

The spine creaks as you flex it open, thumbing through the blank pages, a little yellowed and stiff from storage. It smells as though it hasn’t been opened in decades, and the first few pages have been torn out, but it feels solid and pleasant in your hands.

“For anything you want. I don’t know if you’re the journaling type, or-”

“I love it.” You cut off his justification, saving him the air. “Thank you.”

He clasps his hands behind his back, speaking softly again. “Of course.” He seems pleased, but fidgets in his spot. “I suppose we should… set you up. For the time being.”

You nod, swallowing as your stomach drops. “I, uh… I don’t have any money, I don’t really know-”

He cuts you off this time with a firm wave of his hand. “I’ll take care of it.”

Your stomach twists uncomfortably. “That’s… incredibly generous of you.”

“I was denied many kindnesses in my travels and will not abide you needlessly suffering the same fate.” He wants to press this point, but softens. “That is to say, if you’ll accept my help, it is freely offered.”

“Okay,” you say through a small, grateful smile. “For now.”

He smiles back crookedly. “For now.”

Stan appears behind his brother, hands tugging at the sleeves of his jacket. “I’m starvin’. What’s the plan, Sixer?”

He meets your eyes, seemingly searching for his answer in them. You shrug and smirk, unsure of what he’s looking for.

Ford checks inside his coat for something, then nods once. “Let’s go.”


End file.
